Notice Me
by Shatteredsand
Summary: There were scars on his wrist and nobody noticed. There were bruises on her face and nobody noticed. They were writhing about in silent agony and nobody noticed. Until they noticed each other. -Runner up in LovelyAmelie's Victorious Awards-
1. Crimson Cuts and Black Bruises

**AN: Starts at some point during their freshman year. But the amount of time between each line break is up to you. Please review. The more reviews, the faster I update. It's a scientifically proven fact. And they make me ridiculously happy. This is also a fact.**

**Summary: There are cuts on his wrists. There are bruises on her face. And nobody notices. They're writhing in silent agony and nobody notices. Until they notice each other.**

**Warnings: Language, mentions of self-harm and abuse**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Victorious". It's better this way.**

**Chapter One**

**Crimson Cuts and Black Bruises**

There are cuts on his wrists. A dozen tiny cracks, spiderweb thin. Half-healed, scabbed dirty garnet instead of dripping slick scarlett.

No one notices. No one asks. No one cares.

He picks at them until they scar over. Then he makes new ones.

No one notices. No one asks. No one cares.

He wears flannel shirts to hide.

* * *

"What happened to your hands?" She asks, studying them intently. There's something in her eyes, her tone. She says _hands _and he hears _wrists_. His sleeve's ridden up. And he's scared. Scared of his scars. And his life. And this girl.

"Angry cat." He lies through a smile. Smile is his default expression, it's what everyone wants to see. _Smile, Beckett, smile. You're so handsome and _so _talented. Such a _perfect _boy._ A cat sounds believable. Cats have claws. Claws cut skin just as well as the razor hidden in his room. It sounds believable, but he can tell she's not buying it. Not for a second.

She looks at him and sees right through him. _Faker_, her beautiful blue eyes scream at him. _Liar. Scared little boy._

She walks away.

He can't breathe.

* * *

"What happened to your eye?" He parrots her words.

"Angry cat." She parrots right back. But a hand rises to her overly made up left eye. He can just see the faint darkening of the bruise.

He smiles. Smile is still his default. It's a little sad but mostly understanding thing. _Faker_, it says. _Liar. Scared little girl_

She walks away again.

He still can't breathe.

* * *

She comes in drinking Skybucks coffee. And he watches. Notices. Notices that all the make-up in the world can't hide the bruise darkening her cheek and jaw. That she's tried anyways and almost, _almost_, covered it up. Notices that there's a snarl on her lips and hate in her eyes. That she flinches, just barely, just barely, when people get close. She comes in drinking Skybucks coffe, and he notices.

She eats lunch with a girl with violent red hair and wide, innocent eyes. And he watches. Notices. They're the picture of opposites, she sits silently in black while the other chats animately wearing an outfit of colors that shouldn't look good together but do. She has more coffee and a burger. The other eats a PB&J sandwich and drinks from a juice box. She eats lunch with a girl with violent red hair, and he notices.

She shoves a curly-haired A/V nerd into the lockers hard enough for the metal to clang and rattle and moan. And he watches. Notices. Notices the rage in her eyes is matched with fear. That she just _might _be shaking from the encounter. Notices that she all but runs from the crowd to get away. That there are tears dancing in her pretty blue eyes. She slams a nerd into the lockers, and he notices.

She hides in a janitor's closet for fifteen minutes while she cries.

He sits outside the door, and waits. He picks at his cuts, and waits. He starts to bleed, and waits.

She comes out, face tear-stained, make up a mess, purple-black bruise glaring and obvious. She looks at him, sitting on the floor outside a closet, looking at her.

"Don't tell." She whispers. He nods, a secret smile on his face. _I won't if you won't_.

* * *

She misses school for a week. And he notices.

She comes back and there's more anger and less fear in her eyes. And he notices.

The bruises fade and disappear. And he notices.

She starts wearing less make up. And he notices.

She streaks her hair with azure blue. And he notices.

She gets her nose and eyebrow peirced. And he notices.

She brands a star on her skin with black ink. And he notices.

* * *

"What happened to your hands?" She asks again.

"Angry cat." He smiles because he'd be happy, happy for real, if this could be a regular thing. "What happened to your eye?"

"Angry cat." She says with a smirk, hand going to the eye that hasn't been blackened in weeks.

"Maybe we should be dog people." He jokes.

"Maybe we should start skinning cats." She says deadpans.

He laughs. He can't remeber the last ime he laughed and meant it. But, god, he means it now. "Maybe we should. Maybe today? After school? Possibly with something like coffee before the torturing of small mammals?"

She blinks. Oh, shit. He shoud have waited. He should have keep his stupid mouth shut. He-

"Okay. But you're buying." She smirks. He thinks her smirk is just like his smile, something that happens when she's not thinking about it. Like the screensaver on his laptop. He wants to make her smile. Really smile.

"Sure." Cause, aren't the guys supposed to buy everything on dates? Isn't that the way it works?

She walks away from him, smirk still firmly in place.

He takes a deep breath, smelling sandalwood and strawberries.

* * *

Her name is Jade. Her favorite color is garnet. She loves black coffee. The star on her arm symbolizes freedom. He doesn't ask what needed freeing. She's not ready to say. He's not ready to hear. They're not ready to share.

It's a battle to get her phone number. They're on a date, and she won't give him her number. She punches his arm when he uses the word _date_. But she grudgingly gives him the seven digits, so he considers it well worth the pain. It's a whole other war when he asks to take her picture for his pearphone contact info. She's snarky and mean, growling out vague threats. He's only half sure she doesn't mean any of them. But he refuses to lose his temper. To shout.

"Calm down." He says, hands light on her shoulder. "It's just a picture."

She glares and steps away from his hands. But she lets him take the picture. So it's okay.

He smiles. It feels real.

She smirks. It doesn't look fake.

They get coffee and walk around the park under the pretense of looking for cats. She lets him slide his fingers between hers. It's quite possibly the best night of his life.

"Well, that was stupid." She sneers when he walks her to her door. He's almost positive she doesn't mean it.

"Could have been worse." He smiles and shrugs.

* * *

Three weeks and nine dates that she vhemently denies are dates later, he kisses her. It's soft and only lasts a second. A childish pressing of lips. He wants to kiss her for real. The way they do in movies and the school plays. But he's scared she'll get scared and run away from him. He's scared she won't come back.

He pulls back and watches her.

She slaps him in the face. Hard.

"What the fuck was that?" she shouts. And dammit, he shouldn't have kissed her. What was he thinking? He's screwed this up.

"Uh, well, um..." He's stumbling over his excuses when _she _kisses _him_.

It's demanding. It's hard and long and deep. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His hands latch onto her waist, pull her closer.

She breaks away, and she's smiling. A real smile. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. It holds for just over a second before it's swallowed by the smirk. "_That's _how you kiss someone."


	2. Pretty Boys and Pretty Lies

**AN: Jade's perspective, correlates with Beck's first chapter. Please note that she's not necessarily watching him on the same exact days he's watching her, which is why neither notices the other. The irony.**

**Warnings: Language, mentions of abuse and self harm.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious.**

**Chapter Two**

**Pretty Boys and Pretty Lies**

There are bruises on her face. Purple-black and swollen. Burgeoning marks of all her father's rage and all her mother's weakness.

No one notices. No one asks. No one cares.

They yellow and fade. Then her father inevitably gives her new ones.

No one notices. No one asks. No one cares.

She wears heavy make-up to hide.

* * *

He's a pretty boy. That's the first thing she notices. That's probably why she notices him at all in the first place. And, so what, it's not a big deal. She's a girl, he's a boy, she has eyes, he has a pretty face. She's biologically hardwired to notice him. It's what she notices _second _that matters.

He's reaching into a locker, assumedly his, and his sleeve has ridden up revealing his wrists. His wrist slashed with a dozen ruby red cuts. The thing's been ripped to ribbons.

"What happened to your hands?" She asks him, eyes still tracing the criss-crossing patchwork of new red gashes and older pale scars. He looks about three seconds away from hysterical panic when he realizes that his wrist is showing. He's terrified, she can tell. Absolutely _terrified_.

Then there's a smile on his face, big and bright and so obviously a practiced response, "Angry cat."

Bullshit. She raises an eyebrow, just a little. Because that's got to be the worst lie in the history of ever. _Faker_, she says with her eyes. _Liar. Scared little boy_.

She walks away from him.

And feels his eyes on her until she turns the corner.

* * *

"What happened to your eye?" She hears. She turns to see him standing beside her. Where the hell did he come from, she has to wonder, because she always pays attention to everyone around her for any sign of anything. It's a reflex at this point, and he should _not _be able to sneak up on her so effortlessly.

"Angry cat." She repeats his lie right back at him. But her hand goes to her eye and asks herself how he managed to see something so thickly concealed. She's become an expert at layering all that make up over her face evenly so it just looks like she wears too much instead of hiding something specific.

He smiles again. And this one is slightly less fake and much more infuriating. It says all the things she'd silently said to him. It mocks her with an understanding that has more compassion than she's ever been capable of. _Faker_, it sneers with an unmistakable sadness. _Liar_. _Scared little girl_. And it's true, but she doesn't want to deal with the truth right now. She doesn't want to deal with the truth ever.

So she walks away from him.

And tries to ignore the feeling of his eyes burning into her back. Tries to not think about him and his wrists and secrets and lies. Just because they're both liars doesn't mean _anything_.

She thinks about him anyways.

Because she knows that it means _everything_.

* * *

He walks in scarfing down a McMuffin. And she watches. Notices. Notices that he's wearing a plaid, lumberjack shirt in ninety degree weather. That it's too big, hanging baggy so that the sleeves come down ridiculously far. That it doesn't even matter because the thing's so loose that the sleeves fall back every time he raises an arm. Notices that he pastes a smile on the moment he walks through the door. That it's full of sorrow and a rage that seems out of place and just right at exactly same time. He walks in scarfing down a McMuffin, and she notices.

He eats lunch alone. And she watches. Notices. He's always alone. He never deliberately shuns anyone and he exchanges brief greetings several people. He eats mechanically, calculated even bites that have him finishing almost before he's started. He drinks a can of soda whose label she can't read at this distance for the rest of lunch, his eyes shifting and his hands fidgeting. Halfway to his wrist, then jerk back to his side. Every few minutes or so. He eats lunch alone, and she notices.

Sinjin gets way too close one day, and she gets scared. Before her brain has caught up to her body, fight or flight already has her slamming into the locker. Hard. Really, _really _hard. The lockers groan on impact, but she doesn't hear because she's already moving away, trying hard not to draw any more attention by running. She's afraid. She _hates _being afraid. She can feel the tears burning behind her eyelids and ducks into the nearest closet.

Yeah, it's a cliche, almost as bad as hiding in the girl's room. But she doesn't care because for a minute she had been foolish and so, so _stupid_, and she prides herself on being neither. She had panicked. She'd lost her cool. She'd lost _control_. And she can't seem to get it back. The tears are blazing trails down her cheeks and she can't make them stop.

They do stop, eventually, though. They always do. She comes out, wiping her eyes and knowing she'll have to stop in the bathroom and fix her make-up. And he's there. Just sitting there. One of his wrists has begun bleeding again, slippery scarlet sliding down his arm. He's sitting there looking at her looking at him, and all she can think is that he's been there the whole time. He knows she's been crying, and she can't even pretend to hide the bruise on her cheek. He knows she has secrets she'll never tell and he could ruin her with a word the moment he decides he wants to.

"Don't tell." The words tumble out. She hadn't meant to say them. She's Jade fucking West, and she still has her pride, if nothing else. She doesn't _beg_,but she did. He smiles, not the cheap, fake one the he wears all the time. This one is different, personal. Secret.

_I won't if you won't_, she reads in the twist of his lips.

* * *

Dad leaves. She feels nothing but relief. She closes her eyes and thanks the god she'd long stopped believing in for finally answering that prayer. Her mother clings to him and begs him to stay. Promises that it'll be better this time. That she'll do anything he wants so long as he _stays_.

He doesn't.

She thanks god again.

She ditches school for four days, just relishing the freedom of not being completely terrified of staying in her own home. Then her mother notices that she hasn't been going and orders her to attend. She blows her off just because she can. He's not here to hurt her and her mother doesn't care enough to enforce the rules without him to smack her around.

She goes on Monday. Not out of obedience, of course, but because she's bored just sitting around at home all day. Her mother's spiraling depression over the loss of the man who beat them fills her with nothing but disgust and rage.

And maybe, just maybe, she misses the pretty boy. But probably not.

The last of her father's marks yellows and fades. Until she's wearing half as much make-up because there's nothing left to hide.

She gets a packet of hair extensions. It's full of blues and reds and blondes and purples. She decides to go blue for a while and see how she likes it.

Her mother does not like the blue. She accuses her of being a whore. She's not sure what hair extensions have to do with screwing around for money, but she loses her temper and tells her to just wait until she sees the piercings she has in mind. Honestly, she has no piercings in mind, she just wants to piss her mom off. It works.

"You will absolutely _not _be getting piercings!" Mother dearest screams. Well, she _wasn't_. She is _now_.

It hurts. But then she was pretty sure it would. Needle in her face and all. And it's worth it when she comes home and her mom losses the ability to speak for twenty whole minutes. It's hilarious watching her mother sputter and try to demand that she get rid of them. Because how, exactly, is she going to make her?

She doesn't and that's all the confirmation she needs that it doesn't matter what she does. Her mother is powerless in this relationship now, without him and his fists behind her.

She goes back and does her belly-button too. And, hell, why not a tattoo while she's at it? Black ink bleeds into her skin and there's a star darkening the flesh of her forearm. Her mother stops trying to control her and settles for whispering darkly about "shame" and "whores" and "disgrace" and "how she used to be such a good girl" every time she enters the room.

* * *

Okay, so, she'll admit it. She missed him. Which explains why she's standing next to his locker. "What happened to your hands?" She repeats herself because she doesn't know how else to start a conversation with him.

"Angry cat." He plays along, and she thinks, hopes, that he missed her too. "What happened to your eye?" Her hand goes to her eye out of reflex, even if it's been weeks since the last time her father's touch had darkened it.

"Angry cat." She smirks because they have now established witty rapport and she's sure that's important, or some shit. It's fun, at the very least, just to be talking to him. And, yeah, he definitely missed her. It shouldn't make her half as happy as it does.

"Maybe we should be dog people." He banters. And, jeez, that's actually funny. Not that she'd let it show.

"Maybe we should start skinning cats." She says with complete seriousness. She's _not _serious, of course, but it's funnier if it doesn't sound like she's trying to joke.

He laughs. A real, completely heartfelt laugh. It's kinda the nicest thing she's ever heard. "Maybe we should. Maybe today? After school? Possibly with something like coffee before the torturing of small mammals?"

She blinks. Did he just ask her out? For coffee? Today? Something suspiciously similar to panic starts to come over his face, and she realizes she should probably answer him at some point.

"Okay." She smirks because she doesn't want him to know that she kind of _really _wants to go. "But you're buying."

"Sure." He agrees immediately. Big smile that's only half-fake on his face.

She walks away from him, barely holding her own smile behind that smirk.

His eyes burn into in the best possible way.

* * *

His name is Beck. His favorite color is navy blue. He loves pink lemonade. He doesn't ask about her bruises and she doesn't question the scars on the wrist that appears throughout the night. He's not ready to say. She's not ready to hear. They're not ready to share.

He prods for her phone number, and she decides to screw with him a little. He just uses logic to make it seem like she's being stupid. After all, they're on a _date_. Well, she has to punch his arm for that. Who the hell calls one coffee run a date? It's so not a date. But she finds herself rattling off the numbers as he types them it into his pearphone. And when he wants a picture, she wants to see how far she can push him. How long it takes until he's angry and mean and cruel. Until he hurts her.

"Calm down." He says gently, hands feather-light on her shoulders. "It's just a picture."

She jerks away from his hands. But he's still not angry. And he still hasn't hurt her. So she lets him take the damn picture. She won't smile for it or anything though. Smiling is definitely his thing, not hers.

She smirks.

He smiles.

And this time, she thinks, neither of them are fake.

He buys her coffee and takes her to the park to "look for those cats". He starts looking nervous for a second, and she's not sure why until she feels the warmth of his hand slip into hers. She thinks about pulling away just to push his buttons some more. But she doesn't. Because it's kind of...nice.

He walks her home, doesn't let go of her hand until he's standing outside her door. "Well, that was stupid." She throws out because, hell no, she's not telling him that it's the closest thing to perfect she's ever had.

"Could have been worse." He says with an easy shrug and an easy smile.

* * *

He takes her out nine more times in the next three weeks. He calls them dates. She punches his arm every time the word comes out of his mouth in relation to her and and the things they do. They're not _dates_ because they're not _dating_.

Except they kinda are.

Which is how she ended up with him outside her house again. He hesitates for a second, then presses his lips to hers. It's a childish kiss, like the ones little kids give when they get "married" in second grade. He pulls away and she's mad.

Her hand lashes out and slaps him. Hard.

"What the fuck was that?" She shouts because really? He's going to take her first kiss like that? Like they're children?

"Uh, well, um..." He starts tripping over his own tongue trying to soothe her anger. And she kisses him.

She's seen enough movies know what she's supposed to do. She lifts her arms and wraps them around his neck, pulling him down to her and knotting her fingers in his silky black hair. His hands make their way to her hips, and he tugs her closer. And it all feels so good and so right and so...everything.

She breaks the kiss when she simply _has _to breathe. There's a smile pulling on the corners of her lips. "_That's _how you kiss someone." She says as her smile fades back into the smirk she's much more familiar with.


	3. Halo Hanging

**AN: Beck's turn again! Meeting the friends and family. It's the birth of The Gang. ...What up with the reveiw button, guys? I only got half as many for chapter two...Makes me sad inside. And slow. Horrendously slow.**

**Warnings: Language, mentions of self-harm, implied underaged sex**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious**

**Chapter Three**

**Halo Hanging**

Jade introduces him to the girl with red hair. Cat smiles and rambles from one subject to another without any transitions. From her favorite TV show to her new purse to how pretty his hair is to the bird she may or may not have seen on her way to school. When the bell chimes, and Cat goes one way while they go another, Beck has no idea what just happened. Jade tells him that he'll get used to it.

Cat introduces both of them to a geek with a puppet he insists is _not _a puppet. Robbie can barely string two sentences together at a time, but Rex (the puppet) is a jerk. Rex hits on Jade, and Jade raises an eyebrow as if to say _control your dummy or I'll _break _you_. Robbie sputters out a slew of apologies; Rex tells him to grow a pair.

Robbie's best friend, aside from Rex, is a black guy with killer dreads. He whales on the piano until it sings exactly the way it should. Guy's a freaking genius. Perfect pitch, plays more instruments that Beck can count, and seems _normal_. Andre is the only one of the little group that's assembling who doesn't seem to have something seriously and clinically wrong with him.

And despite all the dysfunction boiling under and over in this makeshift smattering of people, they're all friends. Beck finds himself laughing out loud, for no discernible reason, because he has _friends_. And a beautiful, kinda-really-crazy, smart, breathtaking girlfriend. The whole class, said girlfriend included, all stop to stare at him. But he just smiles and shrugs. He's happy. He's not going to apologize for that. Ever.

He's happy.

He finds himself laughing more.

And reaching for his razor less.

* * *

"Beckett," His father sighs after meeting Jade. "This is unacceptable. I put up with a lot of nonsense. I pay for that ridiculous school. I allow that horrendous haircut. I let you do almost whatever you want. You're a young man and you need to learn to make your own choices, your own mistakes."

Beck closes his eyes, keeps his mouth shut, and prepares to sit through this speech again. Nothing you do is good enough, you won't amount to anything, stop living in a fantasy world, blah, blah, blah. Bile builds in the back of throat, but he swallows it down. The scabby remains of his most recent "cat attack" begin to itch and burn, but he refuses to fidget and scratch. The absolute last thing he needs right now is for _that _little secret to come out.

"...but this Jade girl," Beck tunes back in at the mention of Jade's name. His father can insult him and his accomplishments until he's blue in the face, but he's not going to talk about Jade. "I want you to stop seeing her."

What?

Oh, _hell_ no.

"No." Beck stands up. "I won't."

"Becky, sweetheart," Oh great, now Mom's going to jump in. Going to look at him like he's some sort of fucking angel. "We just don't think that you should be spending so much time with a girl like that."

"A girl like that?" He growls. "A girl like _what_? Beautiful? Intelligent? Independent and strong and amazing?"

"Please, son, she looked like she belongs in the Addams' family." Father says shaking his head.

"And? She's beautiful and unique and I _love _her." Oops. He hadn't meant to say that. Not that he didn't feel that way. Just, he wasn't exactly sure how to say it to her, or when. And he certainly wasn't planning on telling his parents. Quite possibly ever.

"You're fourteen," Daddy dearest scoffs. "You don't know what love is."

"Don't patronize me."

"Sweetie, it's just you're so young." Mom looks at him and sees her perfect baby boy he used to be instead of the fractured man-boy he's become.

"Yeah, cause I'm just a kid, right?" Beck finds himself snarling. "Too stupid to know what the hell I'm doing?"

"I didn't say that!" Tears spring in her eyes and Beck can't bring himself to care.

"Stop acting like a child, Beckett." Father reprimands.

"Then stop treating me like one!" Beck shouts exasperated. He's so fucking tired of this bullshit.

"Don't raise your voice to me, boy."

"Screw you." Beck stalks off, rage clawing at him from the inside out.

They let him go.

He carves hatred into the soft flesh of his forearm and renders his skin with angry red slits.

* * *

"I did something stupid." Beck murmurs against Jade's skin. She pulls herself out of his arms, a look somewhere between horror and murderous rage on her face. "I think I went and fell in love with you."

"You love me?" Jade asks, shock and disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah." He whispers, brushing a strand out of her face.

"I'm not sleeping with you." She says abruptly, climbing off her bed and glaring at him like he's just killed her dog or something.

"What?" His eyes go wide. "That's not...I wasn't trying to...I mean, I don't want...I just..." He sounds like a moron even to his own ears. "That's not what I was getting at."

"And what were you _getting at_?" She maintains a distinct air of suspicion. He'd forgotten how quickly she could jump from completely calm to the edge of violence. All that crazy just waiting to burst out.

"That I love you?" He tries, hoping that this doesn't ruin them. That she doesn't get mad at him for saying it. "I mean...you don't have to say it back or anything...I just...I wanted you to know."

"You love me?" There's something he can't quite place in her eyes, an emotion he can't name.

"Kind of a lot." He smiles. The one that only Jade can pull from his lips.

"Good." Is all she says. Her lips are too busy after that, kissing him until neither of them can breathe.

And, no, they don't have sex. And, yes, he's perfectly okay with that.

* * *

Her fingers wander over the ridges covering his arms. Slide over scars old and new. "Do you think you could stop?" She whispers, worry in her eyes. And, maybe, he tells himself, love.

It's a good question. He had certainly been doing it _less_. But to stop completely? He's not sure. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes." The word is said so quietly he almost doesn't hear. She sounds so sad. So scared.

"Then I'll try." He promises. Because he hates to make her anything but happy. So for her, he can stop. Will stop.

She kisses his wrists, kisses every scar, every cut, every nick.

Yeah, he can stop. He can do anything. Anything for her.

* * *

Nine days. He lasts nine days before it's too much and he can't take it. His dad goes off on another ranting tirade about Jade, and he just losses it. The blade bites into his skin again and for a minute, just _one minute_, everything is fine. And then he remembers that Jade wants him to stop. That it makes her sad. Makes her afraid for him. For them.

He throws the razor away from him, sickened by himself. Shame burns through him, setting him aflame from the inside.

He let her down.

* * *

"I want to move out." The words slip out before he's ready for them.

"What?"

"Excuse me?"

"I just, I need to stop. Okay?" He blathers on even though he knows they don't have a clue what he's talking about. "I can't do this anymore. I can't. I can't live on Mom's pedestal of perfection. Not without wanting to hang myself with the gaddamned halo she's put over my head. And I can't handle Dad looking at me like he's waiting for me to wake up one day and realize I want to be him. I just _can't_."

His parents blink. His mother's mouth hangs open in shock and outrage. His father's brows furrow with anger.

"_She's _done this to him, James." Mother is the first to recover her ability to speak. "It's all that girl's fault."

"**JADE**!" Beck roars, losing his temper for the last time in this god forsaken house. He stands so abruptly that his chair slams to the ground with a crash that echoes through the whole room. "Her name is _Jade_, Mom! And I love her, and she has absolutely _nothing _to do with this! This is about me and you and Dad. Not her. _Us_!"

"Sit down this instant, Beckett!" His father screams back.

"No! I can't be that little boy forever! I'm not him anymore, and I'm _miserable_!"

"You're a teenager. You're _supposed _to be miserable."

"Am I supposed to want to die?" Beck asks, pulling up his sleeves. Crimson cuts and scarlet slashes and pale scars obvious on his tan skin. "Huh, Dad, am I supposed to want to_ die_?"

Dead silence.

"What did you do?" Mom whispers, horrified.

"Go to your room while your mother and I discuss this." Dad says looking everywhere but at him.

And he goes. He doesn't have anything left to say.

* * *

His dad buys an RV. It's a giant tin can with wheels. They park it in the driveway. A compromise. Out of the house, away from everything he's running from, but still close enough that his mother won't have to worry.

It's paradise.

Jade come over after he's settled in. "Give it to me." She demands as soon as the door is open.

"Give what to you?" He asks, confused.

"The razor. Give me the razor." She says eyeing anything and everything like potential hiding spots. "Where's it at?"

Beck blinks. He should have expected this. Expected that she'd want to be sure. That she'd want him to be safe. Because she cares about him. Maybe even loves him, even if she hasn't said it yet.

"CD case." He tells her jerking is head to the stack of music. "Mozart's Concertos Through the Ages."

She rummages through the disorganized collection and snatches the offending album. She flicks the case open and carefully pulls the shiny metal from its hiding place. It glints harshly in the fluorescent lights and makes his wrist burn. With need. With shame. He pulls his sleeves down farther and tries to smother the feelings. He doesn't know why he kept it; he's stopping. Has stopped.

Jade tosses it out the window.

"That's not safe, babe." He says shaking his head. "What someone steps on it or something?"

"It's not safe to have it here either." She gives him a pointed look. "And I don't really give a damn about anyone else."

Aww. She just admitted that she cares. It makes him feel all sorts of fuzzy inside. "I love you."

"Good." She says and smiles. And, god, he loves her smile.

* * *

It's late and he should be taking her home. She's pressed against him tightly, kissing him hard, and it's late and he should be taking her home. She's pulling off his shirt and running her hands over his chest and shoulders, and it's late and he should be taking her home.

"Jade," Her name tumbles roughly from his lips, and he can't think straight when she's touching him like this and it's so not his fault. He can feel her smirk when she presses her lips back to his. "Late...home..." He tries to get get it out between each blistering kiss, but the words won't come.

"Beck?" She pulls away from him. For the first time that night, he feels like he can breathe, and all he wants to do is drown in her again. "Stop talking."

It's late and he should be taking her home. But she's taking off her shirt and pushing-pulling him to the bed, and he can't remember how to do anything but _feel _her.

* * *

"I did something stupid." Jade whispers, her breath ghosting across his chest as he holds her after. His arms tighten around her, telling himself to calm down and not get his hopes up, but hoping blindly, desperately, just the same. "I think I fell in love with you too."

He'd known she felt it. She couldn't do what they just did if she didn't love him. Some girls, he knew, could. But Jade wasn't one of them. If she didn't love him, she wouldn't have given him so much of her. And now she's giving him _all _of her.

"I love you too, Jade. So much." He tells her again because he knows she needs the reassurance. He tells her everyday. Because she needs to hear it and he needs to say it. Because he wants her to know, without a question or doubt, that he

* * *

It isn't perfect.

She gets jealous and insecure and possessive.

And they fight.

He gets angry and hurt and condescending.

And they fight.

She cries. Or he does. Or they both do. And he holds her. Or she holds him. Or they hold each other.

And they fix whatever's broken.

It's not perfect.

It will _never _be perfect.

But it's them. It's BeckandJade and JadeandBeck, and it's _them_.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.


	4. Something Stupid

**AN: Jade's up again. Last chapter so make sure you leave a review telling how awesome/horrid I am. Oh, and by the way, I'm posting another Bade called "Never Leave Me". Check it out. Please? I'm like a fairy, I need applause to **_**live**_**! -applause in the form of many, many wondrous reviews, of course-**

**Warnings: Language, mentions of self-harm and abuse, implied underaged sex**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious.**

**Chapter Four**

**Something Stupid**

She finally gets around to introducing Beck to Cat. She's her only friend, and he's her boyfriend, and it just feels like the thing to do or some shit like that. Cat, of course, rambles on in that way of hers. That simple, childish, oh-look-a-distraction way and by the time Cat's running off to her class it's obvious that he has no idea what just hit him. Jade smirks because Cat has that effect on _everybody _and tells him that he'll get used to it. And he will. It's like physically impossible to not like Cat. Jade knows; she tried.

And then, for he first time in ever, Cat is trying to get her to make friends. With a guy who thinks his puppet _isn't _a puppet. Robbie's a geek having trouble getting two sentences to stick together, and Rex (the puppet) is an asshole. The first words that slide out his inanimate mouth are a cheesy pick up line, and if he's not careful she's going to feed the puppet and its ventriloquist through a wood-chipper. She informs him of this with a single intimidating glare that has the boy sputtering out apologies.

And from Robbie and his dummy comes the next introduction. Andre plays more instruments than she's even heard of, and he plays them with a talent she can't even begin to describe. He seems relatively normal though. She's not sure if he really is as perfectly well-adjusted as he seems, or if maybe he's just a better lying than all of them combined. It's probably the former but she's cynical, so sue her.

And under and inside and behind all the dysfunction literally rolling off this mismatched collage of _freaks_, they're all friends. It doesn't make a lick of sense. Jade hates people. Period. She just _does not like _them. Cat never shuts up and that annoys her beyond words, but she can't stay mad because Cat is so innocent and cuddly and Jade kinda wants to hug her ever time she sees her...She did not just admit that. Robbie and Rex are just this side of creepy. Just. And Robbie is such a whiner and Rex is such an ass, but she can't seem to get rid of them. And Andre is so nonchalant all the time and how the hell does none of this insanity bother him? And, of course, there's Beck. Beck with his hidden wrists and constant calmness and post-it note smile that's real just as often as it's fake these days. And there's her, too, with all her rage and occasional bitchiness, and they all just put up with it. So she guesses that maybe that's just what friendship _is_.

* * *

His parents don't like her. She can tell. She can tell because it's obvious. Bright, flashing neon signs couldn't have made it more apparent. And sure, they're just perfectly polite. Not a negative word crosses their lips. There are no vague insults or offensive slurs or even silent glaring. Just the undeniable feeling of _you don't belong here_.

They don't think she's good enough for their son. She's more than inclined to agree with them, but she also knows that it's his decision. And when he leaves, and he will because don't they always, she cry and she'll be broken inside, but she'll let him go because she never deserved to have him to begin with. But until that happens, she's going to keep hold of him for as long as she can. And his parents don't know anything. Not about him. Not about her. And definitely not about _them_.

The atmosphere is stifling. She can see the way his mother has him up on some pedestal of godlike perfection and how desperately disappointed his father seems to be with absolutely everything. She can she the way his eyes get this far away, trapped look about them. The smile on his face is good and polite and perfect. And it's hanging by a fraying thread.

The cuts on his wrists are starting to make a whole lot of sense.

And she wishes they didn't.

* * *

They're curled up on her bed, half watching tv, half making out. And it's nice. Being with him is nice.

"I did something stupid." He murmurs, lips brushing against her skin. Oh god. Oh god. Already? He's already figured out that he's so much better than her? She's not ready to let him go. She jerks out of his arms, trying hide pain with rage. "I think I went and fell in love with you."

What?

"You love me?"

What?

"Yeah." He whispers, gently brushing some hair out of her face.

It suddenly occurs to her that this is like a scene cut out of nearly every teen movie. You know, the one right before she says it back and they have sex for the first time? Yeah, that one. And she's not ready for this. Not even _close_.

"I'm not sleeping with you." Jade glares at him and gets out of bed. Because she didn't think he was that guy. The one who pulls out the lamest tricks to try and get a girl into bed. Or, you know, _any _tricks.

"What?" His eyes go all wide and innocent and his voice squeaks. "That's not...I wasn't trying to...I mean, I don't want...I just...That's not what I was getting at."

"And what were you_ getting at_?" She growls because she's not quite sure she believes him. There's anger and violence humming in her veins, and she knows she's being crazy but she can't help it.

"That I love you? I mean...you don't have to say it back or anything...I just...I wanted you to know."

"You love me?" She has to ask again, even as all the rage just drops out of her. Because she can't believe it. Because he could do so much better. Someone who isn't crazy and violent and cruel. Someone who isn't her.

"Kind of a lot." And there's that smile again. The completely real one Jade's pretty sure he only shows her.

"Good." She says because she can't make herself say the words she really wants to say. Like how she thinks she's been in love with him since that first date when he held her hand. Those words are sticking to her throat and simply refusing to come out. So she does the next best thing: she kisses him until neither of them can breathe.

* * *

Her fingers wander over the ridges covering his arms. Slide over scars old and new. Roam over gashes that had bled his life out. How long had it been, she wonders, since that blade sliced into his skin and carved out these wounds? How long since everything in his life felt so completely out of control that he had to hurt himself, had to render flesh until the pain of his body matched the pain of his soul?

"Do you think you could stop?" The words tumble out in a hushed whisper, and she hadn't meant to say them. She wants him to stop. She's terrified that one day he'll dig too deep and do something he can't take back, and he'll be _gone_. But she doesn't want to burden him with more expectations. More pressure. She just wants him to be safe.

"Do you want me to?" And she could lie now, say she's merely curious. But damn it, she _does _want him to stop. She's afraid for him, and she hates being afraid.

"Yes." She says so quietly she's not even sure he can hear her.

"Then I'll try." He promises. And she kisses his wrists. Kisses every scar and every cut and hopes that maybe she can kiss the pain away.

Even if she knows it doesn't work like that.

* * *

Ten days later she sees new tears across his flesh. He looks so ashamed when he sees that she's seen.

"I'm sorry." He says sounding so completely lost as he tugs his sleeve back down. Jade snatches his hand and pulls him to her.

"Hey," And she's gentle with her words for once. "You promised to _try_, Beck." She lifts the sleeve hiding the newest patchwork of hate and rage on his skin. "Nobody's asking you to do it overnight. Nobody's asking you to be perfect. _I'm _not asking you to be perfect."

She kisses the new slits that mars his olive skin the same as she had before. Because she loves him. Even if she hasn't been able to make the words come out.

* * *

He moved out. He _moved out_. It may be just an RV in his parents' driveway, but it's _out_. Which means there is definitely one thing Jade has to do.

"Give it to me." She demands the moment he opens the door. There's no chance of anyone finding him out here if he does something stupid. No snooping parents, no well-meaning staff, no one to stumble in on him if he makes a mistake.

"Give you what?" His brow furrows adorably with confusion.

"The razor. Give me the razor." She says eyeing everything and anything as potential hiding places. She's got experience in hiding things, but never something this small. So small and deadly. "Where's it at?"

He blinks stupidly for a second then jerks his head over to a stack of CDs. "CD case. Mozart's Concertos Through the Ages."

Jade starts tearing through the chaotic collection until she finds the classical album. She nearly breaks the damn thing when she rips it open, but she removes the blade carefully. It's all shiny and seductive, and she can see Beck fidgeting with his sleeves. Yeah, he's _not _keeping this. She throws it out the window without another thought because she's not leaving it here with her boyfriend who likes to use it on himself.

"That's not safe, babe." Beck shakes his head. "What if someone steps on it or something?"

Who cares? As long as it's not in his hands. So long as it's not gliding across his skin. So long as it's not painting his tan hands crimson.

"It's not safe in here either." She shoots him a pointed look. The boy has got to stop worrying so much about people who aren't him. "And I don't really care about anyone else."

That's as close as she's gotten to telling him that she loves him just as much as he loves her. Maybe more. And he notices, doesn't he always notice, and he gets that cute _in-love _look on his face. "I love you."

"Good." And she smiles because she loves when he tells her that.

* * *

It's late and she should go home. She's pressed against him tightly, kissing him hard, and it's late and she should go home. She's yanking off his heavy lumber-jack shirt and running her hands over the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders, and it's late and she should go home.

But she doesn't want to.

"Jade," Beck tries to speak, his voice uneven. It makes her smirk because she can make him feel like this, all rough edges and shuddering breaths. "Late...home..."

He's trying to talk to talk to her, but she doesn't want to talk right now. She wants his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her body and skin on skin.

"Beck?" She breathes out because she wants to do this, and he needs to shut up so she can. "Stop talking."

It's late and she should go home. But she's taking off her shirt and pushing-pulling him to the bed, and she just wants to _feel _him.

* * *

"I did something stupid." Jade whispers, safe and secure in his arms after. Those arms tighten ever so slightly and she knows he remembers. He knows what's coming and she couldn't stop it even if she wanted to. But she really, really doesn't want to. "I think I fell in love with you too."

She's been in love with him for so long it almost hurts to actually say the words. And suddenly she's scared. Scared that now that he has everything, he'll leave her. Because what if this is all he wanted? What if he just wanted her heart so he could break it?

"I love you too, Jade. So much." He reminds her. Arms still wrapped around her, still holding her impossibly close. She breathes him in, all that he is, and tells herself to calm down. Because it's Beck and he _loves _her. Just as much as she loves him.

* * *

It isn't perfect.

He gets angry and hurt and condescending.

And they fight.

She gets jealous and insecure and possessive.

And they fight.

He cries. Or she does. Or they both do. And she holds him. Or he holds her. Or they hold each other.

And they fix whatever's broken.

It's not perfect.

It will _never _be perfect.

But it's them. It's JadeandBeck and BeckandJade, and it's _them_.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.


	5. IMPORTANT! I'M UP FOR AWARDS

AN: Hey, everybody! Sorry I've been away from the fandom for a while...But I have good news! This story and myself have been nominated on the Lovely Amelie's Victorious Awards. So if you liked this story, kindly pop on over to her forum and vote for me. The categories I'm nominated in are: Best Chaptered, Best Overall, and Best Rising Star/Best New Author. It's at

fanfiction

.net/forum/Victorious_Awards/80641/


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